


End of the Crafters

by orphan_account



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's behind those pink eyes? An Enderman's story. Unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Message to the Humans

**Author's Note:**

> See the end for more details about the story.

Dear humans,

You don't understand us. You call us simple. And then you have the gall to look us in the eyes.

You were once confined to one world. You were stuck. Occasionally, we journeyed there, and laughed at you. We could go where we pleased. But then you found the Nether and journeyed there. We said, no big deal, he won't come to our home. We never went to the Nether--too hot--and the Nether affairs didn't concern us. The Nether was full of bloodthirsty monsters, anyway. Maybe even enough to finish you off for good.

But then you grew too comfortable in the Nether. You made it your home. You extracted all the resources you needed. You grew forests and made it a lush place. So much for the monsters--you had weapons. And we grew nervous. For the first time, you had weapons that could actually combat us.

You travelled in packs. There were more than one of you. You think you look so different, but really, you all look the same to us. Just a few different colors here and there. You called each other by strange names as you journeyed around. We did not understand you. Did not, past tense. Because now we do.

Because when you went to our home, thinking you were indestructible, you took it over. You hollowed out the pillars, the very pillars where we stored our precious materials, and made yourselves comfortable. And when you finished our leader the Dragon off, we were forced to leave. We hid out in the other dimensions, even the Nether, but we had to be careful or else we would burn up.

And then you returned, victorious, to your homeworld, your original world, with countless weapons and potions. You reckoned yourselves invincible.

But you were wrong.

Because when you went to our home, we watched you. We watched you banter back and forth, we watched you fight in perfect unison, we watched you go through the cycle of harvest. We watched you and learned what your strengths were--and what your weaknesses were. And we learned how to defeat you.

We won't defeat you yet. Very soon we will. But we are waiting, biding our time, until the perfect moment.

And then you will fall into our trap.

And you will be ours.

And we will reclaim our home and perform the Revival Ritual to resurrect the Dragon.

And then we will be the immortal, all-powerful race we once were.

The Endermen.

 

What is our plan, you ask?

Why do you think we'd tell you that?

 

Okay, you say. But at least tell us what you have against humans.

Well, we say, that is a long story. But I will attempt to tell it to you. I will tell you the story of how humans destroyed our society and my life. And how we will reclaim our homeworld.

Someday.


	2. Brighteyes

My first memory: blackness.

"This one didn't come out right," someone said.

And then endless stars.

 

I grew up on an island formed of colorless, dented stone. You humans call it End Stone, for reasons I cannot imagine.

I had one parent. A father. He had many children. Mainly he ignored us, except for feeding us the dark, smooth stone from another world. Obsidian. We ate it, sucking out all the nutrients and flavor, and when we were done, it had become what you call End Stone. That was what our island was composed of--the remains of our food, what was left after we'd consumed the best part of it.

Because my father did not teach me, I learned a slightly warped worldview from my elder sister, Brighteyes.

"Someday you'll go to the other world," Brighteyes often explained. "Or maybe you won't, because you're so small. But anyway, things are really weird over there. There are brown stems that grow green blocks and flowing red liquid and flowing blue liquid. And a sky that's a different color. And sometimes it changes."

I was fascinated by Brighteyes. She was older and had been to another world, so therefore she was the ultimate authority in everything.

Not all of Brighteyes's tales were of exciting locales and dangerous adventures. Sometimes she told me about the End, our home.

"There are different pillars above our heads," she explained. "And if you touch them, they have different effects. One gives you obsidian. One gives you knowledge. One makes you glow. One makes you clone. What's cloning, you say? It's where you get copied, sort of. Dad--he copied himself to make us. Except there are a few slight changes. For example, have you ever noticed that the pattern on my back isn't quite as pink as his? And someday maybe you and I will clone ourselves. And then there will be children."

Brighteyes was fearless, but not in a brave way. She was fearless in that too-stupid-to-notice-the-danger kind of way. She'd walked into fire and water and off of cliffs. So one day, while I was still young, she took me up to the Roof "to see the stars."

The stairs were hidden, but Brighteyes knew the way. She boldly wrapped her arms around me and ascended. Then she cleared aside the End Stone at the top.

I was instantly astounded. The world was so much bigger than I thought. The Stone seemed to stretch on forever. And the sky...so dark and forbidding, so infinite, so beautiful.

There was a great sound of flapping wings, and a large shape passed over us, casting us in shadow. When it passed over, I asked in wonder, "What was that?"

"The Dragon," said Brighteyes confidently. "He's as old as the stars. He founded the island and protects us all. With him there, we're safe."

I stood there for a moment, taking it all in. I closed my eyes and opened them. The numerous stars were still there.

"What do you think?" Brighteyes asked.

"It's awesome," I said, for lack of a better word.

Brighteyes's pink eyes, sporting the spellbinding glow that earned her her name, fixed her gaze on mine. Her face was serious for once. "Littleone, do not tell anyone that I took you up here. 'Cause they'll be mad. At me. And then they'll punish me." She looked almost pensive. "I think I'm a troublemaker. Dad always says so. Sometimes he says that if I get in trouble again, he'll throw me off of the island. But I'm not sure if he's lying or not."

She replaced the End Stone and we walked back down the stairs.

After that, she took me up to the Roof regularly. I began to long for the times when I was no longer cooped up in claustrophobic tunnels in the heart of the Island, but when I was up on the wide expanse of the Roof, so open and free.

Of course, even that came to an end. I woke one morning to find Brighteyes disappeared. I knew instantly where she had gone--to the Traproom, the prison center.

Even if I hadn't figured it out, everyone was talking about it over breakfast. My siblings chattered on. Our father looked away, his face unreadable.

"You know, Littleone," he said after a while. "Soon, you will go on the roof. And you will travel to another world."

"When, Father? When?" I protested. But he was silent once more. And I was left to my own images of the other world, the massive expanse of sky, the water and fire, the infinite life and beauty.


	3. Another World

I had been cloned. But I had been cloned with a mistake in me.

A disease.

The disease left me small and weak. By the time I was young, the worst had passed over me. But I was still sick.

One of the medical staff took interest in me around the time I was three rotes old. She hovered around me, asking me questions and slowly pushing me, prodding me, to accept her views.

One of her strongest opinions was on Brighteyes. "Don't you think she's a bad influence on you?" she would always say. "I think she's a bad influence on you." She'd frown disapprovingly, not-so-secretly hoping that I would express some agreement.

I disliked her. I always tried to escape when we had our little confrontations. She would misinterpret this as boredom. "Come back here," she'd growl, suddenly turning mean. "Listen to what I tell you."

I missed Brighteyes.

Now don't go thinking that I'm compassionate. Sensitive. Emotional. No. Not in the least. I must say I am ashamed of my early emotions. They are from when I did not know how to control myself.

I have put all that behind me.

 

Rotes wore on. The crystal turned in the fire. I lived below the surface of the island in the network of tunnels, dreaming of the stars.

Every time we met, the medical person and I disliked each other a little bit more. Finally, she could sense the fraying bond and took me upstairs. To the Roof.

"This is our land," she explained. "This is where we live. See, it's more than just tunnels and tunnels. There's a real world out there. And maybe someday you'll--"

She broke off and stared at the sky. Her eyes filled with stars.

I took this oppertunity to escape. I sprinted away at top speed (sprinting seems so stupid now, now that I know how to teleport) and tried to press my hands against the obsidian pillars.

One. I began to glow. Two. I felt my skin crawl. Three. Obsidian tumbled out. Four.

But I couldn't get close to the fourth one. There was a force holding me back. I pushed my hands at it, but it wouldn't yield.

She was right behind me, having figured out what I was up to. She'd teleported over. I could feel her breath on my back. Angry, harsh. I wondered what she'd do when she caught me.

 _If_ she caught me.

I pressed my hands against the force, urgently this time, and finally it gave. And I touched the pillar.

I was sucked into a whirling void.  _This must be the pillar to another world_ , I thought. _The one Brighteyes mentioned_.

I could hear only the wind and the medical person's wailing cries from behind me. Anguished. Miserable. She had lost me. Though, if you ask me, she had never had me in the first place.

 

Are we an elegant species?

I've never thought of us that way, but compared to you, I suppose we are. We stand, graceful, tall, commanding. Our land is simple, yet everything serves a purpose. On a small island ravaged by disease, this is necessary. Our stars are many. We measure time by the turning of a crystal in flame.

You make houses out of diamond, emerald--such waste! Why not trade the emerald for something useful? Why not use the diamond to fight?

But lucky for us, I suppose. These shortcomings make it even easier for us to defeat you.


	4. Struggle to Survive

It could have been rotes. Rotes and rotes. My mind spun. I was killed, and then reborn.

Such is the intensity of inter-world travel.

 

I arrived at the new world, Earth, and fell flat on my face.

I came face-to-face with something I hadn't seen before. Green. It looked fresh and new. I tried to remember if Brighteyes had given it a name when she'd told me about the world. Greenish stuff?

I picked up a chunk of it out of the ground and looked it over. Examined it.

The sky was a fresh blue. White sailed across it.  _Clouds._

It was warm here. On the Roof, it was cold, almost forbidding. But the sun in the sky was a dazzling orb, fiery, as Brighteyes had promised, and it provided plenty of heat.

I laid down on the greenish stuff and relaxed.

 

The sky was changing. Pink streaks were edging over the horizon. I'd fallen asleep and awoken to a new wonder.

I was so amazed, I almost forgot that my stomach was aching in a way that it never had before. It took me a few minutes to figure out what it was.  _Hunger._ I had always had plenty to eat before, in the tunnels of the island. But now there was no obsidian around. Nothing to eat.

Why had I been so stupid? Running away from the medical person--that had been reasonable to me. She was so annoying. But why did I have to touch the pillar that would take me to another world? Why did I have to follow in Brighteyes's steps?

Brighteyes.

She had been here before me. I knew it. I looked around a little bit. Ancient footsteps, encrusted in mud. Probably hers. A block cut out of a tree. She would probably done that. A pillar of green. Almost definitely.

She was gone now. But a part of her still lingered. "Brighteyes, what should I do?" I whispered.

No answer. Only the ruffling of leaves in the wind.

Once more I curled up and tried to fall asleep.

 

When I woke up, the sky was dark, but encrusted with little gems of light. I remember Brighteyes had loved them.  _Stars._ They comforted me.

I couldn't see my surroundings. The area was black. I stretched out my long arms and felt around.

My stomach still ached. It was unavoidable. I began to dispair--when my arm brushed against something long and hanging. A vine. Maybe I could climb it.

I got to my feet and grabbed hold of the vine, then gingerly began to ascend.

After a while, the vine stopped going up. I climbed onto what seemed to be a platform built out of a rough material. I couldn't see it, only feel.

Okay, I had gotten up here. And now maybe I was safe from the strange creatures that prowled the jungle. I was especially afraid of the one with the pink body and the snort after Brighteyes's stories. But I had made absolutely no progress in the search for food. And to find food, I would need--

My thoughts came to an abrupt halt when I saw a pair of pink eyes staring at me.

It was another of my kind. But I didn't recognize her. She took my hand and whispered urgently, "We need to go."

"Who are you?" I asked. "And why do we need to go?"

She gripped my hand even tighter. "Trust me on this one. We need to go." She began to pull me away. But I was frozen in place. "I don't even know you," I said.

"But I know you," she responded. "You're Brighteyes's little brother. She calls you Littleone."

At the sound of my sister's name and my own childhood name, I let up my guard a little bit. And she took that oppertunity to tug me as fast as I could. I was being dragged along, until I righted myself and began to sprint alongside my companion.

She was muttering under her breath. I made out the words "thunderstorm," "creeper," "can't teleport," and "little guy," along with a few swear words. The rest was an incomprehensible blur.

I was hurtling over leaves and the green of the floor. The trees had become much denser here. It was, I believe the word was, a forest. Suddenly, there was a snap from behind us. A long, drawn-out scream. A flash of light. An incredible, earth-shaking BOOM. And then...darkness. Just like back home.


	5. Desert Base

I have been called a weakling. I disagree--just because I'm unusually small does not necessarily mean I'm weak, especially when it comes to intelligence. After all, I got you humans in this trap. In this hole-with-no-way-out.

But, I'll easily admit, I was weak when I was young.

That is why I was unconscious for so long.

 

I woke up and opened my eyes--or one eye, at least. Something was covering the other. The room around me held an unexpected clarity. It had precise walls carved out of smooth yellow stone and cots on the ground, similar to those we used back at home. I instantly knew that I was in the Otherworld, and I remembered how I'd come there. But I didn't know where I was.

"Littleone?" I looked to my left. There was my companion from the night before. She had white cloth wrapped around one arm. "We've been waiting for ages for you to wake up. We want to give you the tour."

"Aren't you angry with me?" I asked in a croaking voice. "For escaping from the medical person and being too slow?"

"Angry? No. But you  _have_ suffered your share of injuries. Your neck, your arm and leg, your stomach...your eye."

I instinctively reached up to touch the bandage over my eye. But she pushed my arm away. "Don't touch it--you might make it worse." Then her voice softened a little bit. "I'm Swiftel."

"Are you like Brighteyes?" I asked, like a young child.

"No. I have seen much more than your sister. And I know much more. To be honest, she wasn't the flattest crystal in flame. Unlike her, I can teach you."

"What can you teach me?"

"First: about food. If you can stand, come with me to the kitchens. We have many new foods for you to try."

I tried to lift myself up, but my legs wouldn't obey me. Finally, Swiftel took a firm hold around my torso and lifted me up. My legs shook weakly.

"There," Swiftel said. "Can you walk?"

I shook my head.

She sighed slightly and carried me into another room. Obsidian lined the walls. There was a flame, but no crystal, which seemed a little odd to me. And there were plenty of cupboards. Swiftel opened one. "Oh, we're out of mushroom soup," she said, sounding slightly disappointed. "I'll have to ask Marks--" She broke off when she saw my confused stare. "Sorry, just talking to myself again there. Here." She set something brown on the table and let me to sit down on one of the chairs.

I examined the brown food. It was an odd color--all I'd ever eaten was obsidian, and while it had different flavors depending on where it was harvested, it was always a purple-black. But I was so hungry that I ate it anyway. It tasted good--soft and warm and slightly sweet.

I turned to Swiftel, who was bustling around the counter. "I like it," I told her. "What do you call it?"

"We call it bread," she replied, only half paying attention.

 _Bread_. Brighteyes hadn't mentioned it.

Another person came in. He had a brief whispered argument with Swiftel, then teleported away, leaving a slight trail of pink.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on Minecraft, a computer game involving placing blocks and collecting resources and making things.  
> It takes place from the point of view of an Enderman, a dark black creature with glowing pink eyes. It "gets angry" at people when they look at it. For more information on it, go to minecraft.net.  
> I have invented some odd phrases and idioms for this story. The Endermen in the story measure time by a turning crystal in fire. One rotation of the crystal is called a rote for short. It is about a month.  
> "The flattest crystal in the fire" is like "the sharpest knife in the drawer" because flatter crystals measure rotes more accurately.


End file.
